When I Was 17

My youth has lit like a flame.

I feel heartbreak and shame, but they are not to blame.

The way I walk, and the way I talk make me value life as art,

These years are the hardest, but this is my painting and I am the artist.

I paint my life colourful even when it’s glum, I paint it red and watch the ambers succumb.

I indulge in the good and resist the bad, even when they make me sad.

The flame still burns as my youth flees, Like the jump of a rope or the ocean’s breeze.

But my youth has shown me only what I had to know, that the wounds within me had forced me to grow.